The Way Back Home
by nuttycookie
Summary: Continuation of 'Where the Heart Is': against all odds, Ichigo has survived his fight against the Quincy and is recovering in Squad Four...but where is his nakama? Resolution of assumed character death, warnings of mild fluff, and developing into more typical Bleach-esque humor later. IchiRuki. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1: Patience

A/N: Continuation of 'Where the Heart Is'. Not much to say beyond that.

Enjoy the sap!

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The world swam around Kurosaki Ichigo as a flurry of sight and sound and smell bombarded his mind in a chaotic concoction. It was bright, unnaturally so, and there were indistinct yet somehow distantly familiar voices speaking in hushed tones. His lungs were filled with sterile, tasteless air that felt suffocating and startlingly foreign.

He blinked.

Once . Twice, accompanied by a twitch of his right foot. On the third blink twitch of the other foot, which prompted a grunt of discomfort, the motion grabbed a nearby someone's attention. That particular someone promptly dropped the armful of clean robes, bandages, and bottles that had been bundled in his small arms.

"Kurosaki-san! You're awake! Oh thank goodness, I was beginning to think—well, actually that is to say, we all were so worried because—"

The substitute only understood about half of the rambling monologue the individual was excitedly spewing out. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration and his jaw clenched; he recognized the voice, but his vision was still fuzzy and unfocused, so he couldn't even distinguish who was chattering beside him.

"…Kurosaki-san?"

"Hmm? Yes?" His voice croaked when he tried to speak, as if atrophied from lack of use. "Where am I?"

"You're with Squad Four," the speaker's voice fell with obvious disappointment. "Do you know who's talking to you?"

"I—I'm not sure…Hanatarou?"

The young shinigami beamed, leaning over the lanky substitute's body so that Ichigo could now see the boy's exhilarated expression. "Oh, Kurosaki-san! Good, I'm so glad! We were all starting to think you'd never wake up!"  
"Wait." Ichigo took a breath and flinched at the spear of pain in his side when he did so. "How did I get here? I thought that I…" He trailed off, hoping Hanatarou would understand what he was getting at. He wasn't up for much conversation at the moment.

"That you what?" _Apparently not_. Ichigo chuckled to himself quietly; _That's right, this is Hanatarou here, not Rukia…can't expect too much of him… _"Abarai-san and Ishida-san found you; I believe Inoue-san was there too, but she only stayed here for a little bit before Unohana-taicho sent them all away to let you rest."

He blinked. "H-how long have I been…here?"

"Oh, I don't remember, Kurosaki-san…five or six days?" he whined, beginning to pick up the menagerie of objects he had dropped earlier. "Maybe more like a week? It's been so busy around here, I can't even keep track of time, I'm so sorry—"

"Forget it," the orange-headed teen interrupted crossly. _Five or six days?_ He shook his head violently, causing the world to spin for a moment. Another thought now pulled on his mind: with his reiatsu now no longer near-nonexistent, he could finally make out the spiritual pressures of other shinigami within the barracks, but there was one in particular that he couldn't locate.

"Wh-where is she?" he inquired falteringly. His knuckles turned a bright shade of white.

"Umm…who?" Hanatarou looked genuinely confused, tilting his head to the side.

"My nakama, who else?!" A growl rumbled threateningly from deep within the substitute's chest, his eyes flashing a golden yellow. "Where is she, where's Rukia?" he demanded.

"Oh, Kuchiki-san…she…"

"She _what_?!" Ichigo now had sat up and reached over to grasp the small boy's collar. He had no patience for rambling, his entire body was screaming at him from every slash and bruise he had suffered. He didn't care.

"She hasn't woken up yet, Kurosaki-san." The boy's eyes were wide and his voice even smaller than his diminutive stature. "She's here too; your friends brought her back here along with you…but she hasn't been recovering as quickly as you have…"

"Let me see her."

"No!" Hanatarou's gaze took on a shocked but firm glare, hard as flint. "You can't be moving around yet, it's too dangerous! And I have orders to ensure that you _stay put _in _this room_!"

Ichigo held his friend's stare for several long moments before heaving a resigned sigh. He had never seen the boy so stubborn, and as he gradually recalled more of his condition and his mind cleared, he began to calm himself. "Fine," he muttered curtly, "I don't want to have to fight you, or get you in any trouble. Just tell me when she wakes up, alright?"

Hanatarou stepped back, his body tense with surprise; he had never seen Kurosaki so…compliant.

"O-okay, then. I-I'll just change the bandages on your wounds, and then I have other patients to check in on. I'll keep you informed, Kurosaki-san."

The soul reaper in question remained silent, uncharacteristically submissive as he was hurriedly tended to.

Of course, he didn't really intend on staying that way for long.

He waited until Hanatarou left the room, and lay patiently for nearly an hour, counting the threads in the sleeve of the white robe he now wore, until the hall outside was completely quiet, and the shifting of reiatsu nearby had stilled. It was then that he rose from the bed, shedding the white linens that covered him, and stumbled out the door and down the hall.

_Dammit! _He still couldn't sense Rukia anywhere, no matter how hard he tried, how far he reached…that panicked feeling began to return to his aching chest, and he pushed it back stubbornly. He slipped down to one knee, buckling in pain, next to the last door on the right end of the hallway. It was then that he felt a tiny glimmer of reiatsu, a flicker of something familiar.

Ichigo burst through the door with renewed vigor and impatience, huffing as he stood in the doorway before taking in the frail, petite form that barely made a bump in the sheets covering her. He halted, his racing thoughts frozen the moment he spotted her; he closed the door softly behind him and stumbled forward.

"Rukia?" he prompted gently, reaching her side. There was no response, even as he fell to his knees beside her bed, stroking her bruised cheekbones gingerly. They had turned a sickly purple, even darker than her eyes would have been, if they were open. He sighed, taking her hand in his own as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and felt cuts and scrapes even there. "Rukia, I'm so sorry…" He shook his head with a flicker of anger, refusing to be caught in tears again. _There's no reason for that,_ he chastised himself, _I mean…she's here after all…isn't she?_ He sighed heavily, and laid his head gently on her shoulder, shifting around for a moment until his cheek lay tenderly on her chest. Small assurance, perhaps, but he needed it.

_I'll wait, Rukia,_ he thought, pushing back the desperation clutching his heart while a single tear escaped to moisten his other cheek. _I'll be right here, waiting for you. Just like always. And you'll come back to me. After all, we promised…_

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to the substitute, he felt her stir beneath him and heard her chest fluttering with panic for a brief moment. He didn't dare move a muscle, lest he should startle her further, but he did tighten his grip on her tiny hand in reassurance.

The first thing to come into focus for Rukia was a fluffy, unkempt mass of bright orange hair resting on her small chest, which at her slurred prompting lifted so that she could see the owner's face.

Her eyes stretched wide with recognition, glimmering with disbelief and yet tightly held hope. "I-Ichigo? Is that—is it really—"

He chuckled, relief washing over his entire being like a warm summer's breeze. "Yeah, of course it's me, midget." She laughed a little before coughing weakly. He gazed into her indigo depths, trying to lend as much comfort as he could muster. "Somehow, some way…we're both still here."

She blinked, attempted to sit up straight, and quickly aborted the effort with a huff and a noisy sigh. "How long…have I been out for? And…and when did _you _get here?" The question was tentative, and the darker-haired shinigami braced herself for the answer, already fearing the worst.

"All I could get out of Hanatarou was a little less than a week," he replied, slipping his free hand behind her head to stroke the back of her neck lightly. He paused for a moment as his fingertips brushed against yet another wound, which had caused her to flinch. He winced in apology, pulling his hand away awkwardly. "I only woke up sometime this morning; I mean, I've been here a little while I guess, I didn't really keep track…but before that I waited for an hour or so before sneaking out to—"

"You _what!?" _The near-shout shook Ichigo out from his absent-minded babbling. "Idiot! Why would you—"

"I _had _too, stupid!" he retorted with a hiss, trying to keep his voice low, dropping his face down closer to hers, so that their noses nearly touched. He ignored the immediate, surprised flush that brushed across Rukia's ashen-pale skin. "He said I couldn't leave my room, but told me that you hadn't woken up yet…He wouldn't tell me where exactly you were, or how you were doing…and I couldn't feel your reitsu at all." His gaze fell so she wouldn't see his fear, and his tone dropped as well, sinking from frustration to despondency. "I…I had to see that you were…really still here with me."

Rukia was silent for a long moment. "Ichigo…" Her eyes narrowed, brows furrowing in concern as she searched for appropriate words.

The carrot-top suddenly slumped his bright head down to rest on her chest once again, nuzzling her softly, letting out the terse breath he had been holding.

"I…I was afraid that maybe…if I had made it and…and you hadn't…that I wouldn't be able to keep my promise, and find you again."

The words were said with such palpable, tender emotion, so uncharacteristic of the substitute, that Rukia had no idea how to respond.

"Bakamono," she finally muttered, ruffling his hair as roughly as she could manage, with a low chortle. "Is your faith in us really that weak?" She startled him by suddenly stroking his brilliant locks with small, cold fingers, down to the nape of his neck. After a few long moments, he sat up again to look her in the eye.

"For the record," he said with a hint of his trademark smirk returning, "I'm _not _letting you out of my sight until you're well again."

"Psh," she rolled her eyes at him playfully, "I don't need a babysitter, idiot…besides, you can't stay here all day."

"Says who?" He straightened, squaring his shoulders and wincing inwardly from the motion, but refusing to let the unexpected irritation interfere with his proud show. "They'll have to drug me up and knock me out first, bind me with kidou, and then still drag me out of here kicking and screaming before I'll leave you again." His arrogant tone masked the uncertainty and hurt hidden within the words that he spoke, but the shinigami's eyes couldn't lie, not with his nakama gazing straight through his open tawny windows.

It was Rukia's turn to play around with hiding her emotions now—it was a well-practiced routine for them, after all. She pursed her lips together and blinked deliberately with exaggerated concern. "Well then, you can't expect me to let you stay on the floor like an _idiot _for long—not in your condition." More gently but practically, she added, "You're not in such great shape yourself, Ichigo."

His shoulders slumped a little with disappointment, getting the supposed message: 'if Squad Four doesn't kick you out of here, I will'. He turned his head to hide his desire to pout like a petulant five-year-old. "Yeah, I know…" His face took on a look of surprise when she fidgeted, cursing quietly to herself in pain at the movement, as she shifted over in the hospital bed—which looked like a wide ocean already, compared to her tiny figure. He realized she was making room for him, which was quite unnecessary, but the gesture symbolized an enormous show of trust. His gaze asked her the obvious question, and she nodded with a smirk and a roll of her dark eyes, settling back down beneath the sheets with a tiny squeal of discomfort.

Ichigo slipped into the sleek linens, wrapping his arm tentatively yet protectively around his partner's waist, turning her to the side so that she faced him. Her eyes fluttered closed as she burrowed into his larger, warmer form, quivering a little, until she was totally enveloped by her nakama. A genuine smile touched Ichigo's lips as he glanced down at the frail bundle tucked against his chest, and a familiar warmth spread through his bones.

"Ichigo?" she asked quietly, not looking up from her curled-up little ball.

"Yeah, Rukia?" He unconsciously pulled her tighter against himself, yet was still careful not to cause her any unnecessary discomfort. "What is it?"

"Thank-you…for staying with me…even though we survived."

Ichigo stiffened for a brief moment. "Dumb midget," he said after a few seconds of thought, "if I could be so sure about how much you mean to me when we where on the brink of death, why in the world would you suddenly be worth any less when we're alive and well? A promise is a promise."

If a shinigami could somehow purr, that would quite well describe the sound that fluttered out from the small bundle of Rukia that he held.

And there, he stayed.

"Ah, Unohana-taicho! I'm so sorry, I should've kept a closer eye on him, I should've known that he—"

Hanatarou's panicked flurry of excuses was put to a halt by the raised hand of his captain, who was glancing through the doorway of Rukia's room in the barracks with a warm glint in her eyes.

"Tell me, Hanatarou-san: do you think Kurosaki-san is really in such terrible shape if he could make it all the way here to see to his friend's well-being?" She smiled, closed-eyed, with a lilt of a threat in her voice. "He wants the company; would you really be the one to disturb an intimate moment? I highly doubt Kurosaki-san would do anything that would cause any further harm to Kuchiki-san."

"Ah, um, yes…I understand." Hanatarou stuttered hopelessly for another moment before giving up with a sigh. "My utmost apologies, Taicho; I'll head back to my other duties now!" With that, the small shinigami gave a deep, flustered bow, and darted off.

Unohana remained a moment longer, her gaze lingering on the pair: they lay wrapped up so comfortably in one-another's arms, tucked securely into a sea of white as the sun set, casting a warm glow through the small window above them. They appeared to be so content, at peace, and filled with such a near-tangible sense of belonging, that the captain couldn't help but hold back a genuine laugh. "Why couldn't they have figured themselves out sooner, instead of beating up on one another so often?" she muttered to herself as she slid the door shut behind her with a soft click, knowing that the two inside needed their privacy to keep from turning on each other. "Too bad it took such a near-tragedy: this sort of thing almost suits them, if they could only swallow their pride."


	2. Chapter 2: Selfless Jealousy

A/N: Should have said in the other chapter:

DISCLAIMER! I do NOT own Bleach, any of the characters, etc; they are the sole property of Tite Kubo…only the plotlines of this work are mine.

This story will likely continue for another 2-3 chapters.

Thank-you so very much for reading! Please, R&R—knowing that my work is enjoyed really helps keep my momentum through the writing process!

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"Oi, Ruk—j-just what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!"

Ichigo had barged in on a certain fidgety, indigo-eyed soul reaper standing on her tiptoes atop her bed, her tiny hands straining to pull her up closer to the equally small window above her, just out of her reach.

"Bakamono," she hissed crossly, not bothering to turn to look at him, lest he see the emotions playing across her face. "I'm practically dying of cabin flu here, but this window must have been made for abnormally tall freaks like you."

"Um, I think you mean 'cabin fever', Rukia…" Ichigo sweatdropped for a moment at his friend's poor attempts at modern language, but promptly forgot his train of thought and darted forward as his friend suddenly stumbled from her perch with a surprised squeak. He had barely grasped her shoulders with concern before she squirmed out of his grip, shoving him away in a show of self-confidence. "Gah, don't do stuff like that, you stupid midget!" he growled, chastising her shamelessly as he glowered at the floor over his aid having been so violently rejected. "You're barely getting over being hurt, you don't need to re-open any wounds," he added, a little more quietly, placing a hand on her arm.

Rukia merely 'humph'-ed and wriggled out of his grasp, muttering something about 'you're not my mother' and him being 'noisier than a squawking hen'. This newfound sensitivity and physical familiarity that Ichigo was showing more and more of as of late confused her, putting her in an odd mood.

"Psh, and you dare call _me_ an idiot…" Ichigo muttered. He plopped his rear down on the bed next to her, pulling on her forearm to force her to sit as well, instead of continuing to wander toward that high window…

"Hey," he said suddenly, "there's a window down the hall from here; it's a heck of a lot bigger, and not nearly as high…"

For a brief moment, Rukia's eyes were as wide as saucers, filled to the brim with excitement, all attitudes and bickering forgotten. But almost immediately, her expression faded to one of skepticism, and she turned her face away, crestfallen. "Ichigo, I know _you've_ been getting away with being an obstinate, insubordinate cretin the past few days," she patted his head in mock sweetness for maximum emphasis as he growled, "but I'm _not _supposed to go walking out of here alone. I have orders."

"Who says you'd go alone?"

She whipped her head around and blinked up at him in surprise; before she knew it, her nakama had hoisted her up off the bed and bent down as low as he could so that he could slip her arm over his shoulder for support. "Well? Are we going or not?" he prodded impatiently when she hesitated, stepping forward and pulling her along gently.

With that, the pair soon were limping into the hallway, leaning on each other heavily for support and balance, Ichigo proving to be no steadier on his feet than his companion, despite having more experience walking around as of late. As they neared the window he spoke of, Rukia growing more eager by the moment as she glimpsed its bright, warm glory, they both became aware of a set of familiar reiatsu approaching them from afar.

"Kurosaki-kun! Kuchiki-san! You're alright?!"

Rukia flinched visibly, turning her head to face Inoue and holding a finger to her lips to 'shush' her. The girl in question tilted her head in confusion, but soon bounded toward them anyway, with Ishida and Renji not far behind. She had felt the instant flooding of tension in Ichigo's frame upon their friend's exclamation.

At this point, Rukia and Ichigo had reached the window, and the substitute wasted no time in sitting down cross-legged and settling Rukia into his lap securely, despite her protests.

"I see that you two are doing better," Ishida murmured, his left eye twitching slightly, "seeing as you're at least hobbling around on your own."

"Mmm!" Inoue was nodding vigorously, her hands clasped together. "The last time Ishida-kun and I were here…well, let's not talk about that, ne?" She knelt down and leaned forward to awkwardly embrace Rukia, who blinked and cocked her head to the side, stiffening as she felt Ichigo cough rather intentionally—and noisily—from behind her.

"Ah, thank-you, Inoue…I heard that it was you three who found us…we both owe you our deepest thanks." Rukia ducked her head down self-consciously as she spoke and Inoue stood up again. "If you all hadn't…I…we…" she stuttered, trailing off, while Ichigo scoffed loudly, scratching the back of his head.

"What're you doin' all that for, idiot?"

"Wha-what did you say?" Rukia immediately sat erect, her shoulders squared and all embarrassment forgotten, her jaw firmly set. "How dare you, you ungrateful, insolent—"

"They didn't come here expecting a blubbering 'thank-you' from us; they only wanted to see that we were alive and breathing and all that garbage." At this Ichigo involuntarily found his arms around his nakama's torso as he spoke, tight and restrictive so that she couldn't turn around to fight him—or get up and walk away from him, either. He would never admit to that reason, though.

In the midst of their bickering, Renji, Ishida, and Inoue were simply looking on with open stares, casting occasional glances at one another, and slowly blinking in wide-eyed confusion. The initially serious topic of discussion had morphed into a two-way rant of name-calling, reminiscent of a junior high food fight.

Finally, Renji, being the boldest of the three, naturally—and likely, the most pissed off—reached his tipping point. He shook his and shouted, squatting down to the quarrelling pair's eye level. "Oi! Cut it out, you _morons_! I've had enough of all your ridiculous—"

"Sheesh, Renji, just shut up!" The tattooed shinigami was cut off by the substitute. "Shouting and getting people who are injured all riled up isn't healthy, you know," Ichigo muttered crossly. He rolled his shoulders around and closed his eyes lazily, his argument with Rukia now completely out-of-mind, as if it had never occurred. "Ugh, I really can't take all this noise, it's so annoying…"

Ishida stared blankly at soul reaper friend, while the redhead beside him held his mouth agape; the shock in his gaze was barely concealed by the glare of his spectacles. "Ah, last I checked, it was you and Rukia who were the ones making all the ruckus around here…"

The dark-haired, paler shinigami just laughed, falling into a coughing fit as she did so, before leaning back against Ichigo, finally allowing herself to somewhat relax into his lap. "Don't worry about it; thank-you all for coming, Renji, Inoue, Ishida…we _both_ appreciate it," she added, jabbing Ichigo harshly as he muttered something under his breath. "And Renji, when you see Nii-sama, could you update him on our condition and send him my regards? Please?"

Renji stuttered, stumbling on his words for a moment. "Umm…yeah, sure…of course, Rukia. Um, Ukitake-taicho told me to tell you he wishes you well." He grunted abruptly, turning on his heel and grabbing Ishida by the wrist, who looked scandalized at the contact. "We'll be taking off now. Bye, Rukia!"

"Oi, Renji! You jerk! Where's _my_ goodbye?" Ichigo shouted out after them as his friends darted off—or, more accurately, were dragged away by a certain red-haired pineapple-head.

"You don't get one, stupid weakling!" Renji threw over his shoulder with the stupidest expression Ichigo had seen in a long while.

"Um, goodbye, Kuchiki-san, it was nice seeing you! And get well, Kurosaki-kun!" Inoue hurriedly bowed and scampered away after her male escorts. The last thing she wanted was to get left behind.

"Ah, _arigatou_! Farewell, Inoue!" Rukia called after the group warmly. Her bright expression froze as she felt her partner scowling behind her. She was silent for a moment, taking in the uncharacteristic twitching of his reiatsu against her own.

"Ichigo?" No response. She sighed, prodding him with her elbow, this time a little more gently than before. "Ichigo, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Rukia realized with a start that his arms were no longer around her, and the smaller woman had failed to notice that particular change in the whirlwind of events that followed.

"Bakamono, I know you better than that." She heard a growl rumble out of her friend's chest, and she leaned back into him once again, picking up one of his arms, which hung limply at his sides, and dragging it across her waistline until he was half-holding her. "Talk to me," she commanded simply.

He sighed deeply. "God, do I really have to say it, Rukia?" he grumbled, his voice so quiet that, had he been any further from her ear, she may not have heard.

Bewilderment and frustration flickered across her expression until something clicked. "Ichigo," she said slowly, "Renji didn't mean to hurt you by leaving you out, you know. And," she continued on more quickly before he could interrupt, "more importantly, it isn't a sign of weakness to thank your nakama for saving your life, either."

He sighed again, scratching the back of his head to relieve some tension before finally replacing both arms deliberately around her warm, relaxed frame. "Yeah…I know." He chuckled a little. "Maybe I also didn't want to see a nice moment between us ruined by unexpected company, too." He settled his chin on top of her head, breathing deeply to take in that characteristic smell of 'Rukia'—which was just now beginning to replace the sterile, hospital-smell that had covered them both for too many days now. The smell used to permeate his room back in the world of the living, as well as certain spots within the Kuchiki residence. His eyes were closed contentedly, not really caring about what the outside world looked like right now, even though that was why he had dragged Rukia out of her room in the first place. He relished her warmth, her presence…the reassurance that she was indeed _here_, with _him_, and trusted him enough to allow him this close without bashing him upside the head.

"Ichigo," she murmured tentatively after a few long moments of companionable silence, still gazing out the window intently. "Can I ask you something?" After a hum of ascent, she continued haltingly. "Did…did you mean it?" She could sense his bewilderment at her vague choice of language, and shook her head to clear it a little before she clarified. "When we were…out there…together…there was something you said, unless I was imagining it…Did you mean it?"

Ichigo abruptly stiffened like a board, and he tripped over his tongue repeatedly. "Um, ah…what was it exactly that I said?"

Now it was Rukia's turn to catch the nerves going around, and her cheeks flushed lightly. "It was last thing you told me before you passed out on top of me…" She fidgeted in his lap anxiously, feeling her partner's heart pounding like a runaway train against her back; despite the rising awkwardness of the moment, she was not quite willing to leave the closeness of the embrace they shared just yet.

_Oh… _"You…you heard that? I mean, I said that out loud? I-I actually…y-you were still conscious?"

"Yeah…was I not supposed to hear it?"

Ichigo mentally cursed himself at causing the vulnerable, almost ashamed tone of her voice. "I didn't mean it like that, baka," he murmured.

"But…did you mean it? Or…" she swallowed thickly, hanging her head low. "Or was it just something that a dying man says to anyone around in their supposed final moments?" Her last words were the epitome of Kuchiki cool, so cold and guarded that Ichigo's spirits fell. He felt her shuddering with hurt ever so slightly despite he forced poise, and hated the contrast with all his being. He took a moment to gather himself.

"Rukia," he said at last, very clearly and firmly, "I don't know what ridiculous things are running through your mind right now—heck, I really don't _want _to know, anyway—but I wouldn't 'just say' something important like that." He squeezed her tightly and lowered his voice to a whisper, lowering his head so his lips hovered by her ear. "I meant it—every word of it—will all my stupid, reckless, idiotic heart, okay?" That last part came out in such a rush of air that the strawberry suddenly felt exhausted—and a little on edge, admittedly, after being so open. _Yeesh, how sappy can you get, Kurosaki?_, he asked himself with a resigned sigh. _How could I let myself be so vulnerable…ah, but then again, it _is _Rukia here after all…who else would I ever leave my heart with?_

His thoughts were interrupted by a tiny, subdued sniffle, which sent him into panic all over again.

"Wait, Rukia, are you—"

"No, I just…have allergies. Or something." She braced herself stubbornly in his grasp. She quivered again, just a minute tremor, but being so close to one another, it couldn't go unnoticed.

"You're a terrible liar; and 'I know you better than that'," he quoted, giving her a little squeeze. His eyes rolled, heaving yet another sigh. He paused for a moment. "You're not…mad, or anything…right?" he prompted hesitantly.

"Of course not." Her voice broke once again, but she sounded much happier despite herself. "Just…surprised. And a little happy, I suppose." He felt something warm and damp drop onto his forearm, and held her even tighter, until she squeaked lightly in pain. He loosened his hold on the tiny shinigami and grumbled a quiet apology, opting to brush aside her tears with the back of his hand instead of crushing her to death. She laughed a little. "_Arigatou, _idiot."

Ichigo smiled to himself as she settled into his embrace again, turning to the side a little so she could lean her cheek into his chest, a heavy blanket of calm falling over them once again as they finally turned their attention to the scene outside the window.

Just around the corner of the hallway, Inoue had stayed behind: only for a few moments, she had told herself. Her curiosity was simply too strong to successfully ignore. When Ichigo had bent forward to whisper in the petite shinigami's ear, something in the girl's heart broke a little, and she tried unsuccessfully to tear her eyes away from the scene. How could something so sweet—beautiful, even—appear so equally horrid to her? She pondered these thoughts for a few minutes too long, before Ishida came and placed a gentle, cool hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump, startled.

"Inoue-san?" The concern evident in the way he spoke her name, and the sorrow that for once was plain in his glimmering cobalt eyes brought a wave of guilt crashing over the redhead.

"I'm okay, Ishida-kun," she whispered hurriedly, already walking away towards the door, suddenly eager to get far away from the Squad Four barracks—and Seireitei as a whole. "I'm sorry I kept you, and I'm especially sorry if I made you and Abarai-kun worry at all. Let's go home, ne?" By the end of her little monologue, she had successfully returned her tone of voice to its natural, bright timbre and had brought back much of the bounce in her step.

Still, Ishida's brows furrowed, though he followed her out obediently and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose with skepticism. He hadn't missed the way she brushed her eyes with her sleeve, and wondered as to the real reason for the tears he suspected, but he wouldn't press the issue.

As far as he was concerned, it wasn't his place to even consider glancing so deeply into her heart. She had love and devotion to spare, but reserved it diligently for only one person; and he knew for certain that the object of her affections would never be a Quincy such as he.


	3. Chapter 3: Freedom

A/N: Thus begins the second-to-last chapter! Hopefully, we won't all drown in the fluff…

DISCLAIMER: As always, I do NOT own Bleach, only the sappy plotlines contained within this work…

Thank-you all for the reviews, please keep them coming—you are all deeply appreciated!

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It started with a complaint.

A lazy, ambivalent grumble with just a hint of frustration in her tone.

Rukia was lying on her stomach, her chin upon her hands—which had been curled into loose fists—with her elbows resting on the hard floor of the hallway. She gazed out the window longingly, as she had for several days now, barely turning her head lethargically as her companion called her name several times with growing irritation at her ever-increasing inattentiveness.

"What?" she said lifelessly, returning her focus to the calm scene on the other side of the glass. A gentle breeze was tousling the branches of the sturdy, skyscraper-esque trees outside, beckoning her silently with their tranquil sense of life and freedom.

"I'm trying to ask what's wrong with you, stupid," Ichigo grumbled crossly, joining her as he stretched out on the cool, smooth floor beside her.

"Nothing," she responded with a quiet sigh.

He remained silent, his narrowed eyes transfixed on her profile.

"Alright," she said at last, her voice low and a little testy, "I'm bored. _Really _bored. And I'm sick and tired of being locked up inside like someone's pet cat. I want out."

Ichigo stayed quiet and still for a moment. "I understand." He turned his face toward the window, which used to give them such enjoyment but now seemed to mock the pair as they sat inside their sterile, restrictive cage.

"Psh," Rukia scoffed lightly, a tinge of annoyance peaking through her tone. "I don't see why they can't just let us go by now. We can walk just fine, we can dress our own wounds—heck, we've always done that anyway—and they don't even bother to give us painkillers anymore." She growled a little. "So why the hell are we still here?!"

The sudden, albeit hushed hiss of an outburst surprised the ginger next to her. "Who says we can't leave, then?"

She rolled her dark sapphire eyes. "Hanatarou-san, for one; and he's under orders from Unohana-taicho."

"Heh, what could they do to stop us? _Us? _Of all people!" Ichigo abruptly sat upright, his hands splayed out behind his lean form. He turned to his companion with a mischievous, overwhelmingly cocky smirk betraying his languid movements.

"I-Ichigo, what are you—"

"Come on, Rukia, let's get out of here already."

"N-n-_nani?!_" The petite shinigami stumbled backwards as Ichigo offered her his hand. When she pulled away, he darted forward, taking her pale hand anyway by force and dragging her up along with him.

"I said _come on_, we're getting out of here! _Now! _I'm just as sick of this place as you, so let's go already!" He was sprinting down the hall, his nakama in tow, who continued to noisily protest until they had gathered some rather unwanted attention.

Hanatarou stood dumbfounded in front of the pair, flanked by some lower-ranked officers from Squad Four. He had just finished his rounds with the other patients under his care, to find two of his closest friends scampering through the barracks, hurling insults at one another, hand in hand. Only the last part struck him as odd.

"Um, excuse me but…what are you two—"

"Aw, crap," Ichigo snarled, turning to his companion and releasing her abruptly. "Hurry up, midget!" He darted off towards the front doors without her, but two of the other officers had stepped into his way, attempting to apprehend him as he progressively grew more agitated.

"Ichigo, you moron! What're you _thinking?_" She cursed under her breath, pushing past Hanatarou and halfway knocking the smaller young man down. "Follow me," she ordered over her shoulder, sprinting back the way they came.

The substitute promptly followed, trusting Rukia's instincts as readily as his own; she had never let him down before, after all. Surely enough, she already had a strategy in place—he could feel it in her confident steps and see it in her brightly glimmering eyes.

She led him back into her room, pausing for a moment to grab her sheathed zanpakuto before whipping it out in a flash. She leapt atop Ichigo's shoulders for a boost in height before bursting open the window above her bed with a slash. She returned Sode no Shirayuki to her side before motioning towards the now open portal to their freedom. There was now a growing commotion within the barracks as the other officers searched frantically for the AWOL shinigami. Ichigo nodded in understanding, jumping up and sliding himself through the small space with some difficulty, then turning back to help hoist his shorter companion up and out into the fresh air of the outside world.

Rukia tumbled to the soft earth before coming to stand beside him, her arms crossed and a look of playful arrogance dancing across her delicate features.

"Fine, fine, it was a good idea. Congratulations, _chibi_," Ichigo admitted with a scowl, not looking her in the face as he brushed the dust off and stray shards of glass from his white robes. "Now let's get out of here before they find us."

Rukia laughed quietly to herself, but was interrupted by an aggravated, surprised cry from the other side of the building. "Dammit," she barked, "They've spotted us!" She started to run, trying to lead her companion away toward a thicket where they could get away without detection, but was cut off by a sharp jolt of pain searing through her side. She clenched her jaw and bit back a yelp. The substitute whirled around, sensing her discomfort and the sudden shift in her reiatsu; it was suddenly turbulent, and withdrawn from where it had previously been brushing against his own.

"You okay?" he prompted hurriedly, reaching for her and halting when she doubled over with a low snarl.

"I'm fine!"

"Psh, yeah right." The ginger rolled his brown eyes at her show of Kuchiki pride. He didn't push the issue—he knew better than to argue at a time like this. "Come on," he glowered, kneeling with his back to her. She hesitated in puzzlement. "I said come on, dammit! We don't have all day, you know!"

The still-cross lieutenant begrudgingly heaved herself up onto her partner's back, barely securing her arms around his neck before he abruptly stood and took off at a fierce gallop.

Before she knew it, they were zipping through the streets of Seireitei, past most of the barracks of the Gotei Thirteen, in plain view of any and all shinigami present. Ichigo didn't care about being stealthy; they were moving so fast, no one was likely to recognize them, and if any dared to even try to catch up, they'd have to be a master of shunpo to match his frenzied pace, as far as he was concerned. He grinned arrogantly as Rukia clung to him for dear life. Her eyes were wrenched shut, aware only of the wind whipping through her short hair, the sound of her nakama's panting as he ran, and the steady, rapid thudding of his heart beneath her small hands.

They stopped at last, and Rukia opened her eyes to find them near the Squad Thirteen barracks—more specifically, about a two-minute walk from Ukitake-taicho's office. Ichigo let her down off of his back and leaned against a nearby tree to catch his breath.

"So, what nonsense have you so foolishly attempted to involve my sister with now, boy?"

Rukia's head whipped around at the cold, deadly voice of the newcomer. "N-nii-sama?"

Ichigo growled audibly, rolling his shoulders casually before he looked the Captain in the eye, not quite bothering to regain his composure. "Byakuya, I'm not kidnapping Rukia if that's what you're thinking."

"My sister is supposed to be with Squad Four, having her injuries attended to," the dark Captain replied smoothly but with a deep threat in his voice. "I really don't care if you ran out of there prematurely, but my sister is another matter."

"Nii-sama," Rukia murmured quietly, stepping forward to face her brother with a bold, hard edge to her cobalt gaze. "I left the barracks of my own free will; Ichigo was merely helping me, as I requested." She shot the orange-headed man a look to kill, keeping him from arguing that point. He rolled his eyes at her, and she continued. "My injuries are at a point where Squad Four is doing little to aid in my recovery that I could not manage myself. It no longer seemed appropriate to remain there in confinement—I have duties with my squad that, as lieutenant, I have neglected for long enough." As she concluded, she exchanged a long look with her adoptive brother, her shoulders squared and her voice confident and strong, unwavering in her decision. Ichigo felt a grin tug at the corners of his lips; this was the Rukia he knew: stubborn and resilient as always.

Byakuya stood wordlessly for a moment, deliberating. "I see." He turned to the substitute with an unreadable expression. "I expect you will return my sister to my residence by supper, then. I will not have you two running around all night when she belongs at home, resting."

Ichigo stumbled backward against his tree a little in surprise; he chortled as Byakuya turned to walk away. "Is the great Byakuya Kuchiki actually inviting me over for dinner?" The arrogance in his tone was thick, but met its match with the murderous look the Captain shot him from over his shoulder.

"Don't be ridiculous, foolish boy!" His low, humming voice dripped with unspoken threats. Ichigo felt his blood run cold as the captain ran his long, slender fingers casually over the hilt of Senbonzakura. "I am instructing you to ensure that Rukia is safely home by seven o'clock tonight—and not a _second_ later—after which you will not be found anywhere _near_ the premises of my household. Do I make myself clear, Kurosaki?"

Byakuya Kuchiki didn't bother waiting for a response, merely stalking off into the distance, cloaked in shadow and silence.

Ichigo stared after the captain for several minutes that dragged by in dumbfounded stillness before he shook his head violently and took off running again.

"I-Ichigo? Bakamono!" The dark-haired woman stuttered and glanced wide-eyed at the orange blur now disappearing into the trees. "What do you think you'redoing?" Rukia screeched after him, stumbling around until she successfully found her footing and caught up with him.

"Taking us somewhere a little more private," he called back, not slowing down to speak. Soon, their steps fell into sync with one another, a comfortable routine they had practiced far too many times—in the real world, in Soul Society, in Hueco Mundo…it seemed there was hardly a place in the universe they hadn't traveled through together like this. Despite the soreness of their limbs and the complaints of their still-mending wounds, they ran side by side contentedly, a strange sort of serenity and quiet determination touching their features in unison.

The pair finally collapsed on a lawn of grassy, warm turf, exhausted and sore; this particular spot lay in an outcropping tucked away from all the barracks of the Gotei Thirteen. It had become a somewhat-frequented meeting place for them in the past, and the familiarity of the secluded spot, with its tremendous view and tree-shaded shelter from the bright sun proved extremely welcome. Ichigo promptly flopped over onto his back while Rukia stretched out on her stomach several feet away, panting heavily. She shot him a scowl from behind narrowed indigo eyes.

"What, are you mad again, midget?" he growled, covering his genuine concern with an aloof scoff and a flip of his ginger hair.

"…Not quite," she replied after a deliberating pause, rising to her feet after catching her breath and leaning her shoulder against a tree. "I don't mind the fact that we're finally out of that ridiculous, stifling hospital…but dammit, why did we have to start _sprinting_ again to get here? Did you seriously think Nii-sama would have revealed our location to Squad Four or something? We could've just walked!" She huffed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in frustration after spewing out her complaints in a rushed breath. "He allows me plenty of freedom to come and go as I please."

The carrot-top rolled his eyes. "I'm _not_ going to take the bait on that one," he muttered in a low tone. "Maybe I was just impatient to get here—should I have picked you up again and carried you, in front of Byakuya?" He gave her an arrogant smirk, daring her with his eyes full of challenge.

"Bakamono," she shot back, turning away from him a grunt of disapproval. "Forget it."

"…Oh come on, Rukia," he muttered under his breath after several long minutes of repressive silence during which she remained perfectly still, not even tapping her foot in impatience as she typically would. Ichigo treaded carefully, uncertain of what was going on in the smaller shinigami's mind. "Oi, I didn't mean anything by it; I know your brother wouldn't squeal on us. I honestly just was in a hurry to get here, and maybe I got a little excited. I mean come on, how many times have we gone running through those woods to get here?" he prodded playfully, with a slightly pleading edge to his words. "There's a lot of nostalgia here—this is kind of an important place for me."

Rukia glanced thoughtfully down at her nakama, who was still laying flat on the verdant carpet beneath him, a faraway look in his eyes. "It is for me, too," she whispered quietly, all signs of their spat having dissipated into the clear air of their private, shaded space. She took in the tepid breeze playing across her cheeks, the rustle of leaves above her head, and the earthy and floral scents that mingled together and brought a satisfied moan from deep in her throat.

The substitute shinigami heaved a long sigh of relief as at last she settled down, perpendicular to him, on the shuddering, windblown grass. He watched the tip of her petite nose nuzzling around until her cheek found its place near the center of his broad chest, and he felt the outline of her ear come to rest over his warmly drumming heart. He was very aware of some sort of pride welling up inside him, an unusual and almost foreign feeling. It wasn't like the sort of satisfaction achieved after defeating a foe, or overcoming a great obstacle, or even watching his little sisters conquer an important goal. Perhaps it wasn't really pride at all. It was an odd sort of pleasure that he had only ever experienced with _her_, in odd sorts of moments like the one they found themselves in now. He suddenly moved his left arm to drape over his friend's small form, their wide difference in proportions allowing his hand to rest comfortably on her hip with a lax touch.

"Arigatou, Rukia," he murmured, closing his eyes contentedly with a tired smile.

"F-For what?" she stuttered, puzzled at the sudden show of gratitude, frozen in place. "I haven't done or said anything that—"

"Yes, you have," Ichigo argued, for once without any edge or irritation to his voice, and Rukia's stiffened form softened in response. "You…you listen. That means a lot. And I want to thank you for that fact." His cheeks flushed, aware that she could surely hear his heart suddenly racing within his ribcage. Somehow, there was a strange sort of comfort in that thought…

Rukia chuckled predictably, pulling him out of his reverie. Another moment passed in silence before she whispered back, "Thank-you for letting me in to listen." She stretched a tiny, pale hand across his waist hesitantly. "You have a lot to say, you know; I'm honored."

Ichigo froze for a moment, eyes snapping open, certain his face couldn't become any redder after that comment. His mind swam in bewilderment as he looked down at the black and white lump stretched across his chest.

Before he could respond, Rukia chuckled again, this time a little louder, proving him wrong—his cheeks felt like overheated coals. "What was that for, midget?" he demanded, a little cross with embarrassment.

She giggled in response: a peculiar, almost sweet and downright _feminine_ sound that Ichigo had never heard from her before, save for when she put on her ditsy act among his human friends. It almost disturbed him for a brief moment. "Nothing…it's just, that big, manly heart of yours just skipped around like a bunny-rabbit!" she said, her words dripping with a week's worth of teasing and sarcasm…and…affection?

Before the orange-headed, pink-cheeked young man could make a move to sit up, or say a word in protest, practically drowning in his own self-consciousness, his companion nuzzled her cheek softly against his chest again and took his hand in her own with certainty, smiling against his white robes. "Idiot," she muttered with another laugh, "that wasn't an insult, you know. I might mock you a little, but in case you didn't notice, I'm still here, aren't I?"

The ginger-headed shinigami stopped, the color drained from his face, eyes wide open, looking at nothing in particular. It was true, in more ways than one: she hadn't budged an inch from her perch, still lying on the lawn beside him. But more than that…

After all they'd been through, she could have walked out of his life at any point and let him be to live normally again. She could have stayed home, in Soul Society, with her brother and Renji and her duties as a soul reaper; instead, she followed him tirelessly, fought alongside him, saved his sorry ass more times than he could count…and in the process, made him feel each day a little less at home with the supposedly 'normal life' he repeatedly chose to leave behind yet tried to somehow long for.

Of course, he realized, a little belittlement was to be expected from her: that was their tradition, after all, and if the shinigami got too serious for long, he would likely suspect something to be awry. But, as sure as ever…there she was, at his side like always, no matter what ridiculous things he said, or the rash, sometimes idiotic things he did, or how rudely he reacted…

Rukia held back a surprised squeal as Ichigo abruptly rolled onto his side towards her, pulling her forcefully against himself in a tight embrace, their bodies pressed incredibly close together. The substitute shinigami smiled and laughed deeply, the sound resonating through his chest, to which Rukia was held like a child's beloved stuffed animal.

"W-what was that for, bakamono?" she queried, her body rigid in his grasp, startled by their proximity. She squirmed, the effort to escape futile; she wasn't sure whether she was more alarmed by the sudden, rather aggressive display of physical affection, or by his raucous laughter. Both were so reclusive, that to see both at once was strangely unnerving.

Ichigo's grip loosened ever so slightly, and he took one calloused hand to stroke some of Rukia's inky locks with a more gentle touch. He answered her question with another chuckle, albeit a softer one. "Now _your _little, midget heart is skipping around like a bunny-rabbit. Just a much smaller, more temperamental rabbit than mine," he added, earning him a light kick in the shins. He was surprised to hear a laugh flutter out of her, along with her tiny arms reaching around his waist to finally return his embrace. He relished the flood of warmth that both actions brought, relieved that she wasn't really angry with him.

"Bakamono," she sighed quietly, the term so tenderly spoken that yet another flush of his cheeks was in order.

After a while, Ichigo could tell that his partner had fallen asleep; her body was so relaxed, softly warm, and with a contented smile gracing her lips. But the substitute didn't slumber—he would far rather indulge in the moment for as long as possible, now watching the sun dip below the horizon with an explosion of color tainting the previously azure sky. He was tempted for a moment to wake her, to enjoy the show together, but quickly decided against it. After all, how often would one have the opportunity to watch over a sleeping Rukia like this?

_Especially now, with Byakuya's stupid 'curfew'?_

He shook his head and closed his eyes again as the sky darkened, simply grateful for the surprisingly delicate bundle cradled innocently in his arms.

He'd deal with other people later; right now, only one mattered.


	4. Chapter 4: Finding 'Home'

A/N: Here it comes, the final installment! Warnings for a bit more in the way of sappy monologues...however, to be honest, traditional confessions aren't really appealing to me (and certainly don't seem fitting for our couple, ne?). Hopefully the culminating chapter isn't too out-of-character. I shall let you all be the judges of that. (Regardless, I wanted to finish with an epic, adorable yet still Bleach-like bang...shall we find out if I accomplished such a goal?)

Speaking of which...! I sincerely appreciate reviews, and welcome both praises and criticisms/critiques. Give back some love and R&R!

DISCLAIMER: I am not Tite Kubo, therefore, I do not own Bleach...simple, yes?

I hope with all my heart that you readers out there enjoy this fic as much as I have enjoyed writing it these past few weeks.

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The World of the Living.

She always enjoyed her visits here, with Ichigo's family and friends: she found his sisters to be impeccably sweet and adorable in her eyes—even though Karin was admittedly not as bubbly a character as her blond-headed sibling—and his father was a jovial, bright-faced pillar in the household whose escapades with his son never ceased to amuse the raven-haired noble. Rukia had an intimate knowledge of countless small details of the family's abode: she knew instinctively where her favorite cereal was tucked away in the pantry, along with the nook in the shower where Ichigo always tried to hide his bar of soap from her, the drawers of his desk that she had hijacked for her art supplies, and of course every square inch of her beloved closet, where she had spent much of the first few months of her stay in Karakura upon losing her powers as a shinigami. It was so long ago, yet so fresh in her mind…

However, her visitation on this occasion felt a little…different…than any time before.

She of course was not at all dependent on a gigai, though she occupied one at present anyway out of habit. She had her duties as the lieutenant of Squad Thirteen, so she was well aware that her stays could never be as extended as they once were. And she wasn't entirely sure about letting the twins or Ichigo's father know that she was even here visiting in the first place—she knew that the girls thoroughly enjoyed her company in their bedroom at night, but she hated to impose, especially at the last minute like this. She would feel so guilty watching them set up an extra bed for her at such a late hour as it already was.

On top of that fact, some part of her honestly and deeply missed the little niche she had once claimed in Ichigo's closet at night. It was quiet, private, and dark enough to give her a safe haven from prying eyes and listening ears. She could be herself, allow herself to be alone and not put on an act for others for a change. She wouldn't be awakened by the calls of, _Kuchiki-sama, _or _fukutaicho. _And yet…

She also recalled that, despite the seclusion that 'her' closet provided, she was never truly as alone as she may have seemed. After all, she could always glance through the crack in the door and see her ginger friend's sleeping form, sneaking a peak at his expression, or hear his soft snores gently wafting through the air during one of her sleepless nights. And even in sleep, his hot, brightly flaring reiatsu would brush up against hers from time to time, a not-so-subtle reminder of his presence so nearby. At first, she had found this annoying—disturbing her sleep, causing her to bristle with alarm, thinking a hollow or some other malevolent being was upon them—but in due time, she came to relish the sensation of his deep strength washing over her habitually. It became a sort of reassuring comfort that she would never quite find in the Kuchiki manor, despite the presence of her brother, whom of course she loved and deeply appreciated.

It had also been awhile since she had been in Ichigo's company at all…

Rukia gave a warm, comfortable sigh as she entered the front door, kicked off her shoes hurriedly and immediately dashed up the stairs, bursting through the bedroom door, and landing on the comforter of Ichigo's bed with a tiny squeal of exhilaration. She grasped one of his pillows, nuzzling her face into its softness and breathing in deeply to take in the scent of the achingly familiar space. Within seconds, however, the bed's owner had entered the room; he had followed right on her heels, and shut the door behind himself with a click.

Ichigo slumped heavily into the chair by his desk, exhausted from a day of long talks, exterminating stray hollows, tolerating the frenzied inquiries of his human friends, and rescuing Rukia from getting lost downtown with Inoue. It was in no way a depressing sort of day, perhaps due to the company he had long missed since his return to the world of the living a little over a month ago—alone.

It shouldn't have surprised either by now: she had her world, he had his, and despite how often and how deeply their paths crossed, they must always return home, where they belonged.

Or so they told themselves, each and every time.

Nonetheless, Ichigo had to forcibly remove his trademark scowl on a daily basis before facing his family, friends, or the outside world in general. He was _not_ depressed, and he certainly did not miss a certain petite, dark-haired, violet-eyed shinigami…at the very least, he could goad strangers and classmates into such complete and utter bull…

The pair enjoyed several minutes of companionable, familiar silence, much like they had in times past—reminiscing silently, lost in the many memories shared in the small space they now occupied once again. The only sounds to be heard were the rustle of a breeze outside the window, the chirping songs of the crickets embracing the coming dusk, and their quiet breaths and mutual sighs. Soon, their thoughts turned to more recent history: the defeat of Aizen, the loss of Ichigo's powers for seventeen agonizingly long months, and of course the first time they had really _seen _and _felt_ one another since that fateful event…then came the war, fighting hollows and Quincies alike, losing several great pillars among the Gotei Thirteen…then falling still on the cold battlefield, alone but for each other's fading company…half whispered reassurances to one another in their desperate, seemingly final moments, fearing loss and separation and yet still so certain in the strength of their relationship to one another…

It was a lot to think about—the ever-running strain of memories was mind-boggling.

His mind returned to that particular memory which contained what he was certain was the most horrid sound in the world. The sputter of blood in a wheezing breath, accompanied by a pained _whimper_…his Rukia did _not_ whimper. His trademark scowl began to morph its way into his features until he shook his head violently. That was in the past—Rukia was here now, perfectly all right and alive.

So much had happened since then, anyway. He could scarcely remember the last time she had sincerely hit him, or had a serious, temper-flared argument with him—the recent past was, aside from her absence that terminated today, quite calm and downright pleasant.

Ichigo's thoughts were suddenly suspended by a quiet voice from beside him, drawing him out of his internal monologues.

"Oi, Ichigo…can I stay here tonight?"

The orange-headed teenager snapped his head up, his brown orbs foggy with confusion. "You never bother to ask, Rukia; I don't see why not. I'll just let the girls know and—"

"No," she interrupted, giving him an incredulous look as if he'd just suggested something utterly ridiculous and nonsensical, like giving away her Chappy memorabilia to a bunny-hating child. "I meant that, I want to stay here, with you." Her words were firm, and Ichigo felt something in his chest constrict ever so slightly. He stared at her with an open expression, despite how she spoke as though she were communicating something as obvious as the color of the sky. "Bakamono, why are you looking at me like that? I just want to sleep with you, gosh!"

The substitute's eyes grew as wide as full moons, full of panic, which thoroughly confused the woman sitting cross-legged on his bed in her gigai. "Ssh!" he hissed, pupils dilated as they darted about the room nervously. "Don't say that so loud!"

"Why not? I'll speak however a wish!" She scowled at him, knitting her brows together and crossing her arms across her small chest. "Why are you so suddenly concerned with being overheard, anyway?"

"My sisters might still be awake, and I don't want them hearing things like that!"  
"Things like what, did I say something wrong?" Rukia's eyebrows furrowed further into a thin black line across her forehead. "What are you talking about, baka?"

Ichigo heaved a sigh and fidgeted in his chair, shuffling his feet and avoiding eye contact. "Rukia, for crying out loud—! Y-you can't just go around saying that you're _sleeping_ with me—"

"Why can't I?" she argued, tilting her head in genuine befuddlement, which only aggravated her nakama further. "That's what we've been doing lately anyway, back in Soul Society."

"Rukia," he said as clearly as he could, with a deep breath to settle himself, "sleeping together…doesn't mean the same thing in this world as what you're thinking…when you say that here, it's assumed that…well…" He squirmed around uncomfortably, mumbling to himself until she prompted him to continue. "It's assumed that if you're sleeping with something, that you're having…_sex_…with them."

"Oh." Rukia looked down for a moment. "But we're not…so who cares what other people think anyway?" She then tried rather insistently to get him to hold her lavender gaze, even going as far leaning forward and tilting to put her face directly in front of his, but he kept shifting his brown eyes away from her.

"Because…even if we're not…sharing a bed is for people who…you know…"

"No, I don't know, Ichigo; I don't know this world like you do," she reminded him as he trailed off, her patience now beginning to wear thin at his vague answers and lack of convincing arguments.

He sighed yet again, refusing to meet her stare, fumbling his thumbs around each other and finding his shoes immensely fascinating. "Sleeping together is for people who are…you know, married…or at least, when you're the person's girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever…or when you're engaged…it's not just for anybody, and it's not meant for people who are just friends...because even without doing…_that…_"his foot twitched as he found himself unable to say the word 'sex' again, and his voice dropped further, "it's such an intimate thing to do…so…"

Rukia's eyes took on a look akin to shock, but with deep offense behind their stubborn front. "I'm confused," she murmured quietly, trying to keep the quiver from her voice, though her reiatsu was much harder to control at this point. "You and I—" She stopped herself short, her voice breaking just a little.

Her partner took notice of the change in her demeanor instantly, and barely realized he may have stepped into some very painful territory. He tried to form words and failed, growing frustrated with himself, when she spoke again.

"Okay, so you're saying we don't fall into any of those categories…but so then, what are we?" Her voice was bitter, but steadily breaking against her will. "What exactly am I to you, anyway, Ichigo?"

Her continuous, stubborn questioning would normally have simply spurred his irritation and anger further, but the bright-haired shinigami stopped again, frozen by the emotion not just contained in the strain of her voice, but now beginning to spill out from her soft lavender eyes in the form of glimmering streams of silver that snaked down her pale cheeks. The fire of her probing, forcibly angry tone was not found in her gaze—she looked as if on the edge of giving up a very important battle, teetering toward despair.

And so incredibly _hurt_.

At the realization of what he had just done, Ichigo swore he could feel his heart breaking, sinking down so low in his chest he wondered it if could possibly fall out of his body. How could _he_ have become the cause of such pain to his dearest companion? His closest friend? His _Rukia_? Her shoulders were slumped and she looked away pointedly when he hesitated in answering, returning to her position on the edge of his bed.

"Rukia," he said at last, voice no louder than a whisper and a little hoarse. She didn't respond, so he stood and grabbed her hand forcefully, tugging her forward until she stood directly before him. He cleared his throat lightly. "Rukia, look at me, _please,_" he implored, waiting patiently until she raised her head just enough for their eyes to meet. Her indigo pools were guarded, even fearful—it was as though he were approaching a wounded animal, whose injuries he had been the one to inflict in the first place. He took a tentative breath to steady himself, trying to choose his words very carefully.

"You are a lot of things to me, Rukia," he began quietly. "You're my nakama, my best friend…the person I trust most of all. Out of all the people in the world, you know me best. You know my past, my fears, even my weaknesses and that which makes me despair and fall…you've stood with me in the rain…and yet you've stayed right here by my side." He took both of her hands in his own, holding them gingerly, never breaking eye contact. "No matter what has happened, no matter how many people doubt me or tell me I can't conquer something, you've always believed in me—even when I couldn't believe in myself. I can always be certain that you would do anything for me, that you have my best interests at heart no matter what; you gave me the power to protect the people I care about, and the strength to rise _above_ myself, to do things that I could never have imagined. You've opened my eyes to a whole _universe_ that I had only glimpsed before. We've gone across entire worlds together, and I would go to the ends of all those worlds to stay by your side. Rukia, I don't know what I'd do without you—hell, I'd _die _for you, if it would keep you here with me." At this point, the woman in question began to look down, almost in shame, but Ichigo's strong, calloused hand gently grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him as he spoke. He inwardly winced at the warm, wet liquid that brushed against his thumb and the shudder running through her small frame. He had read her eyes in that brief moment, and he refused to let her believe that he somehow regretted this life she had brought him.

Did she somehow feel _guilt _over entering his life? Or worse—unsure of the place she held in his heart?

The substitute took a heavy breath and forced himself to not back down at this point. She needed to know for certain what was going through his head, somehow. "Rukia…you mean the world to me. I really don't know what to call what we are or what we have...you are a very, very special nakama to me, but you already know that. And you are my partner: there's no one I would rather fight alongside, or take on the challenge that life itself is with. It's difficult, I know, but my life was never a bundle of roses anyway. I would gladly have my life end with you at my side, as it almost did—you of all people should know that I would never wish for a life any different than the one I have now. I know that at least I would never die alone, and neither would you. But, you also know that I'm not good with words, or with trying to communicate what I feel," he sighed heavily with growing emotional weariness, dropping his amber eyes for several seconds. "But I do know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we have an incredibly special connection; we always have, from that night when we first met. And I also know that the bond we share is something like nothing else in all the world, and I believe it can withstand _anything_—life, or death, or even the rain that we both hate so much…it doesn't matter. I guess what I mean to say is…" He took yet another heavy, trembling breath as she gazed back at him with an unreadable expression. He lifted her hands with care and held them tightly to his chest.

"You are a very special, very _important_ person to me, and…Rukia…I want you to be the one to guard my heart. Because…you're the only one who really can."

"Ichigo…" she murmured, her voice full of wonder and something else entirely that neither could name in that moment. She held his now fierce stare steadily for a long minute, silent and brooding, thinking quietly to herself. Suddenly, she broke away from his amber gaze, fighting back unsuccessfully against the tears welling up behind her still-damp eyes. She unexpectedly dove toward him, nearly bowling him over despite her petite stature, and clung to his torso as though she thought he might disappear at any moment. His enormous heart hammered unsteadily in both their ears.

Her nakama falteringly put his arms around her, his voice frozen in surprise and fear—he had seen the glimmering tears forming moments earlier, and feared he had yet again said the wrong thing despite all his efforts.

"R-Rukia," he stammered finally, willing his body not to shake in its state of vulnerability, "is…is that enough for you? Do you understand now?"

She gave a soft sniffle, burying her face into his chest. He felt her nod against his shirt as she sobbed quietly. "It's more than enough, bakamono…so long as you'll guard my heart, too," she added a little hesitantly, craning her neck to glance up at his expression, carefully gauging his reaction. Her voice broke, and she half-expected him to shrug her off and reprimand her for all this ridiculous weakness she was showing. But instead, she spotted something wet streaming down his cheek, and as her words sunk in further, he grinned brightly.

There was suddenly a renewed vigor within his tall frame, filling his chest so that he felt he might burst with elation. "Of course I will," he murmured into her hair as he pulled her against himself, stroking her back gingerly with his fingertips. "I'll protect it with my life, I promise. Always." He tugged her along until they both fell backwards onto his comforter, withdrawing from her just long enough pull the sheets back and tuck her securely into them before sliding off the bed and standing up.

"W-what are you doing? And where do you think you're going?" Rukia questioned, stammering as she brushed her reddened cheeks with her sleeve to quickly dry them, thoroughly puzzled as to why Ichigo was so suddenly apart from her, folding her into his bed and getting up to walk to the other side. Her spirits began to fall again. "I tho—"

"I'm not going anywhere," he interrupted as he hoisted his lanky legs up onto the mattress and slipping under the covers alongside her in a smooth, languid motion. He gave her a warm, slightly cocky grin, a bright glimmer in his eye as he slid his arms around her tiny frame without a moment's hesitation. It felt incredibly natural these days to have her in this sort of proximity that he wondered for a moment how on earth he had made such a big deal of it earlier. "How can I expect you to watch over my big, stupid heart if I don't stay here with you?"

Rukia tried with much difficulty to hold back another bout of tears, finally giving up with a long, exasperated sigh. "Cheesy bastard," she muttered with a hint of a laugh staining her snuffles. She may be a Kuckiki, yes…but she reminded herself that here, to him, she was just 'Rukia'. She settled into his embrace, allowing herself to cry into his shirt for a few long moments before nuzzling into his chest and laying a pale hand over his collarbone. She watched the delicate moonlight dancing across his features, noting to herself all the changes she saw: once, he was but an arrogant, naïve, hot-blooded teenager, gangly and unwieldy with his overflow of newfound powers. Now it seemed, with his somewhat-matured manner, more angular features, stable strength and even taller stature, the only thing that remained unchanged was his passionate, warm, ridiculously overprotective heart that he had such a hard time allowing others anywhere near. "Arigatou, Ichigo," she whispered, her voice cracking with the overflow of emotion. "I'll do my best to take good care of it."

He chuckled softly, fidgeting beneath the covers a little as his cheeks warmed with a soft, pink glow. "Dumb midget," he retorted, tousling her hair roughly, "you've already taken great care of it without even knowing it." He paused for a moment, relaxing his shoulders a little and lowering his face so that his chin rested atop her dark, silky head. "I want to take good care of yours, too," he amended softly, closing his eyes and letting himself focus on the gradually quieting agitation of her spiritual pressure beside him. _Especially after all you've been through… _he added silently to himself._ I won't ever let anyone hurt you anymore—not even me._

Rukia was smiling so genuinely, and though he couldn't see it, he could certainly feel it as she nestled closer with a quiet sigh. "Bakamono," she muttered, yawning lightly as her consciousness began to drift. Her presence had finally settled, returning to the cool, steady touch he had missed so deeply since their last time together, back in Soul Society. Agitation and the confusion of mixed emotions didn't suit Rukia, he decided—she should have been allowed a long time ago to have a place to let go of it all. To truly be herself, whatever that entailed. He blinked his amber eyes open and let his vision refocus.

Ichigo ran his long fingers through her raven tresses playfully, content to watch over his nakama as she slipped gracefully into the calm of sleep. "Welcome home, Rukia," he murmured into her ear, brushing aside the last traces of her tears with as light a touch as he could manage. He beamed in the darkness, welcoming the sensation of her reiatsu securely wrapped up in his own, and soon losing himself in the soft pitter-patter of their wearied hearts comfortably beating in unison beside one another.

_Welcome home._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**_Epilogue_**:

"Sooooo, my wayward son has at last returned to his rightful place, with my lovely third daughter in tow!" Isshin's joyous face lit up the breakfast table the next morning, tears streaming down his tanned face and clumping into his haphazard sideburns. "Please, tell me…" he leaned forward to take Rukia's hands in his own. "When can I expect them?"

"Ah, expect who?" the small shinigami queried, feeling completely in the dark. Ichigo was watching with wide eyes and a fearful expression that quickly turned to one of pure fury.

"Oh Rukia-chan, surely you must know, especially after _last_ _night_!" Isshin exclaimed, leaning on the table with his elbow and a suggestive wink sent in his son's direction.

"YOU PERVERT!" the carrot-top screamed, landing a ferocious uppercut straight into his father's jaw, grabbing his nakama's arm roughly and dragging her towards the front door. "Come on, Rukia, let's get out of this loony bin…" he grumbled, not looking her way as his entire face reddened and he cursed under his breath.

"I WANT GRANDBABIES!" Isshin cried out after them in desperation, waving his arms above his head like a maniac as he danced around on the threshold. "DON'T DENY YOUR OLD MAN, ICHIGOOOO!"

The pair ran down the street, heading nowhere in particular.

"Ichigo," Rukia panted, glancing at him, noting that he had yet to let go of her arm, but deciding against teasing him about it for now. "I think I understand now what you were trying to say last night about sleeping together here…"

The ginger merely huffed, rolling his eyes.

_Too late now_, he thought grimly, thought with a twinge of mischief toying with the corners of his mind. At this time of morning, most people would be at work or in school…

"Oi," he spoke suddenly, "I'll race you to the park, you slow, little_ midget_!"

"Psh, you're on, _dumb strawberry_!" Rukia stuck out her tongue and slanted her eyebrows coyly.

They ran, perfectly in step, panting and gasping evenly as they tirelessly covered ground. It was an impeccable, practiced routine—the only difference being what Ichigo had in mind for when they arrived. No hollows, no battles, no intruding friends or family members…

Rukia was standing with her fists at her hips, a haughty expression across her face as she waited for her companion to catch up, when he unheedingly bowled straight into her, causing them both to roll across the fragrant grass in a tangled heap. They landed with the raven-haired noble sprawled out in a rather unladylike fashion across his torso; she, in shock and exhaustion, didn't even bother to protest, merely letting her head settle into the crook of his shoulder as he laughed victoriously in her ear. There was no one around, as he had predicted: he intended on making the most of every moment he had with his nakama until she was called to return to Soul Society once again. Even if she lived, worked, and had much of her life's meaning there, he was determined to make certain that she was sure of one very important thing:

This little, private space between the two of them, and the heart they had forged together—wherever that may be at any given point in time—would always be where she really belonged.

_This _would always be home.


End file.
